


Ghost On The Porch

by LadyTheWarrior



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abigail is a good woman, Abigail needs a break, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional John Marston, Emotional Roller Coaster, Fluff and Angst, Foreshadowing, Fuck Edgar Ross, Fuck Micah too, Gen, Ghosts aren't real but orbs are, Hurt John Marston, John and Abigail had a daughter once, Mentioned Arthur Morgan - Freeform, i literally cried while writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTheWarrior/pseuds/LadyTheWarrior
Summary: There’s a ghost on the porch Abigail keeps waking up to, late at night.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I played RDR2 recently, I played the first game ten years ago, I was an emotional wreck then I am an emotional wreck right now again. 
> 
> This story is probably gonna be two chapters.

There’s a ghost on the porch Abigail keeps waking up to, late at night. It doesn’t have a shape really, mostly looks like a shining orb that floats around. Somehow it feels like it had always been there, watching over her and her family. She remembers catching a glimpse of it the first night they moved to the ranch when she was sitting by the fire with John, Jack, and Uncle drinking coffee, singing, laughing. She saw it on the hill, under the lone tree over their ranch, just glowing in white flames. It was captivating and beautiful and peaceful to look that but it also felt sad and heartbreaking and alone.

It was gone in a blink of an eye.

She was just so happy that night that she didn’t think much of it. Later making love to John, after so many years, this time proper and tender under a roof that belonged to them only. Why would she think about something that only seemed like a projection of a blissful mind?

The shining globe though kept coming, not every night, not when John was there, holding her tight in his arms, not when she sat on Jack’s bed so he would read her bible. Not when Uncle was playing his banjo by the fire at the back of the house. But it did come late one night after John left with Charles and Sadie to hunt down Micah. It came tapping softly on the wooden concrete of the window in their bedroom when she was crying, unable to sleep. And it glowed so strangely bright as if directly sent from heavens above. It lit the whole room when Abigail stood up and gazed at it, her heart exploding in her chest and tears flowing on her flushed cheeks.

Then it was gone again. Leaving such coldness behind that no amount of fire could comfort. Seconds later, the sound of horses’ hooves pounding on the ground as they galloped along, made her jump outside just to see John there. Arms open to hold her in a passionate embrace.

“It’s over Abigail, I swear it’s over.” He kept muttering, kissing her hair. But she just couldn’t let go, grabbing John by the lapels of his jacket, feeling the tears falling.

“Don’t you ever dare to leave me again,” She kept slamming her fists into his chest, sobbing, “Don’t you dare John Marston!”

And he trapped her arms between their bodies as if to prove a point that he wasn’t going to leave again. That he had come and this time he would stay and do right by her and Jack.

Abigail turned and tipped her head back. Eyes too blurry to make him out but his warmth comforted her, his presence made her forget about the glowing orb on the porch.

Nights passed, John proposed and they got married. This time… _proper_. The ghost was just a faded memory at the back of her head, like a dream long forgotten. John was there, sitting on the porch next to her, smoking a cigar, flipping through the pages of a worn-out notebook. She had seen that notebook before, _Arthur’s journal_. Somehow after all those years, it survived. She could still hardly read but if there was one thing she was good at, it was reading John.

Brushing a few loose strands of dark hair behind his ear, she reached up and gently caressed the scars stretched on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, inhaling deeply, melting. Arthur was right; John was tough as nails on the outside, wearing a mask of invincibility, he was indestructible. A crazy outlaw, angry gunslinger, fearsome bounty hunter.

But inside he was just a man. A hard-working rancher, a good-hearted husband, a father.

 _A good father. Thanks to Arthur_. Abigail smiled, John opened his eyes and she felt a pinch in her chest as he brought his hand to take hers, staring at the ring on her finger, he squeezed it warmly.

“Mrs. Marston.” Softly speaking, he was just a man after all. Some called him lucky, the luckiest of them all, the one who survived the longest. Being shot, being starved to death, getting half-eaten by wolves. John was just a man with only so much luck left. But he wasn't going to test the limits now, Abigail could see, he was ready to have a second chance at life. 

Abigail’s stomach fluttered as he cupped the back of her neck, pressing his lips against hers.

“I love you,” he said and she giggled, caging herself in his arms, she breathed into the crook of his neck. 

The ghost was there, standing right behind her man, watching them and Abigail only could only catch it for a brief second as she closed her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, why am I doing this to myself!

It was called Beecher’s hope. Abigail especially loved the name and how it carried so much meaning.

“Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts,” Jack read off of some book one day and even though she couldn’t understand a word he had just said, it made her feel warm and tingly in her stomach. Or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps a new life growing within her.

Abigail could tell. She felt the same with Jack, moody, restless, and angry and goddamn sick all the time. But the worst thing was the anxiety growing with the fetus; she couldn’t do chores, couldn’t eat enough, couldn’t have a nice sleep, and couldn’t tell John.

The invisible presence on the other hand had become stronger. She couldn’t see it anymore but it was there, she felt it in the faint stirring of air across her face or behind her back. Or when she went outside near the fences for a walk, she felt it passing by her.

Or perhaps it was only the wind.

Although Abigail enjoyed listening to certain verses of the bible she was never a religious woman. Ghosts, angels, and demons were fictional creatures born out of an imaginative mind. But she’d seen enough of the world to know that men were real. They could create a life; they could take it all the same.

So whatever that looked over her, could never do her any harm because it wasn’t a man at all. It was a hand on her shoulder the nights John robbed her of a sound and peaceful sleep with his loud snoring. It was a soothing whisper in her ears when she was completely alone, sweeping dust off the porch or knitting. It was only a precious feeling, like the scent of a fresh flower, that would linger for only a few hours or a smile of a hurt child weeping on the ground as you help them on their feet. 

And when her baby bump finally showed and the cramps started striking in agonizing pain, it was the same feeling that engulfed her whole body within, like a cocoon, protective and safe.

“Your wife is four-month pregnant, sir,” The doctor announced, “You’re going to be a father,”

John was terrified. She wondered if he knew what was going on at all. He looked dumbfounded. She’d seen him like this before. Twelve years ago when she told him that her monthly bleeding had stopped for a while and that she thought that she was pregnant with his baby. He showed the same reaction then. Eyes widened in fright and face drained of all colors, tongue stuttering, words failing to find their way out, and then he ran, right after he shouted at her and called her a lying whore. 

Abigail was already trying to hold back tears, reliving those awful memories as John only stood there. _Was he going to run away again?_ _Shout and scream and insult her?_ Abigail knew the man before him wasn’t the same from all those years ago but she just couldn’t help asking. God knew it took him a thousand moments later to finally move and sit, or _fall_ , on the bed next to her.

Then something strange happened. Something she had never seen not even in her wildest dreams. At first, she thought, she was mistaken, that her eyes were deceiving her.

John’s eyes were glistening with tears and John Marston never cried.

But he was, taking her hands in his, leaning his forehead to hers. “You didn’t tell me, Abigail,” He whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought… I thought you’d— “ She hiccupped, her voice ragged as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“I ain’t never running away Abigail,” He said like he knew what she was thinking and he was ashamed of it. He lifted his head, tears trickling down his stubbly cheeks as he gazed at her tired face. “Never again!” 

He leaned closer then, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead while his head bent towards her stomach, he began caressing it with his hands.

“You hear that baby girl, I ain’t never going to leave you,” He spoke in a hushed tone.

“How are you so sure it’s a girl?” Abigail smiled, face soaked in tear as he stroked his hair.

“I just know,” He pulled her close and she felt his heart beating fast.

They were going to name her _Hope_.

She and John couldn't stop anticipating her arrival. John kept saying it had to be a girl. And she was gonna be a fierce fighter like her Ma and a professional rider like her Pa. Abigail had never seen him so excited about anything. 

"I'm building a crib for her,"

John said one day when she was over 8 months pregnant, carrying wooden boards, nails, and a hammer to the backyard. Like he was going to make it up for all those years he had missed as being a real father. Of course, Abigail would argue childishly with him over it. 

"But you can't even cut woods, let alone build something!" 

"I built this house for you woman."

"It was pre-cut John! you can't deceive me Uncle already told me!"

"Oh yeah? did he tell you that he also did shit while Charles and I was sweating like pigs, piecing all those cuts together?"

"Argh, you just hurt yourself!" 

"I don't hurt myself Abigail, who do you think I am? I'm gonna build this crib whether you like it or not!" 

"You're a ridiculously stubborn man John Marston!"

"So are you Abigail Marston!" 

They would both smile after like arguments like these are just a part of who they really are now and Abigail would caress her baby bump to say, "You see that Hope that's your silly Pa, he grows on you though." 

"You're going to love me more than your Ma, that's for sure." John would wink charmingly and Abigail would shout playfully.

"Away with you John, go and build that crib you're so insisting on building!" 

And they would laugh without a care in the world. 

Later from somewhere in the house, Jack was reading aloud, completely oblivious to his parents' usual bickering "The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.” and Abigail although too simple-minded to understand the meaning, felt a tinge of sudden sadness in her chest, looking on the porch to see the glowing orb again, floating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably one more chapter left, I'm not ready to wrap this thing up yet.


End file.
